A dust bunny jumped into his path from beneath the sofa. He stopped dead in his tracks and crouched down as low as he could go. His tiny tail flicked back and forth, stopped, and then flicked back and forth. He pounced and caught the dust bunny in his paws. A branch tapped against the side of the house. He jumped up and ran to the bedroom and slid under the bed. The fringe on the bedspread dingled in the breeze and caught his eye. He batted one, then two, then three pieces of fringe. His nail became caught in the forth, and meowing loudly he propelled himself from under the bed into the closet door.
"Hamlet? Hamlet?" his human called. "Where are you boy?" The little ginger furball sat very still. He had learned it was often not a good thing when his human called. Why, it could mean horrible tasting liquidy food or even tubs of water and soap! "Hammy, where are you!" Ah, the tone of exasperation - Hamlet purred.
The human returned to the kitchen and continued preparing dinner. "Purrrr - what is that smell?" Hamlet peeked his head around the corner of the closet door and then slunk across the floor to the bedroom door. The delicious smell wafted into the bedroom and his every sense came alert as if someone had turned on his switch. Hunter mode on - and Hamlet moved stealthily past the bedroom door, across the kitchen floor, and then under the kitchen table chair. "Chicken!" Hamlet recognized that enticing, bewitching smell. "Chicken!" His stomach rumbled, but there was no time for purring. This maneuver required stealth.
His human was busy at the stove, doing human stuff. "Where is the chicken?" His human moved to the sink. "Not yet. Patience." Hamlet's tail switched. "His human moved to the pantry door. "Not yet. Not yet." His tail stopped. His human went into the pantry. "Now!"
As quick as a flash the ginger fur ball sprung onto the chair then onto the table and grabbing a piece of chicken he jumped from the table to the chair to the floor and ran into the bedroom. "Mine! It is mine!" he growled to no one in particular. "Stay away! It is mine!" and placing his paws on the prize, he savored his first bite.
Poor Hamlet! As yet to learn that his human could be stealthy too! "Hamlet!" the ginger fur ball sprang into the air and dove for cover, the chicken prize left behind. "Hamlet! Why you little burglar!"
Well, as disappointing as it was, Hamlet had at least savored one bite of the prize chicken. His human and the other one usually filled his all too often empty dish after dinner. Hamlet waited.
"Hamlet, Hamlet, hey you little Burglar! Where are you?" What was that smell? Hmmm... his stomach growled and he crawled out from under the living room recliner and ran to the kitchen. "Chicken! There was chicken in the dish! Mine!" he growled to no one in particular. "Mine!"
The other one spoke softly. "Burglar isn't a bad name for the little guy, is it?"
(Dedicated to the real 'Burgs' who shared Tom's family life for a little while. May he rest in peace!)
